


Roommates

by Adabotcon



Series: Bad Luck Ducks [2]
Category: Darkwing Duck (Cartoon 1991), DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Anxiety, Child Neglect, Comic Book Violence, Donald Duck's bad luck, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, implied panic attacks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:28:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23483140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adabotcon/pseuds/Adabotcon
Summary: Drake Mallard's apartment gets destroyed. Luckily Donald Duck offers his houseboat to the masked mallard.
Relationships: Donald Duck & Drake Mallard, Drake Mallard/Launchpad McQuack, Pre-Relationship - Relationship
Series: Bad Luck Ducks [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1689451
Comments: 79
Kudos: 276





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Un-beta'd
> 
> The Drake Mallard basically gets adopted by the Duck-McDuck family AU that no one asked for.
> 
> The continuation of Not the Only One which is referenced in here.

The jewelry store on seventh was closed, it had been for a week. It just couldn't compete with some of the other stores in the area. Which made the fact that shadows were skulking around it highly suspicious to the masked mallard watching from a nearby rooftop.

"Might be the owners?" suggested Launchpad.

Darkwing shook his head and put away the binoculars. "Why wouldn't they turn on the lights?" he asked. "No, there is some sort of mysterious mischief moving about down there." He stood up and struck a dramatic pose. One finger pointed to the sky.

"Darkwing Duck will stop these energetic evildoers!" Launchpad gave a cheer.

"That's right!" he agreed. "I've got your back, DW!" Darkwing felt his beak tick up in a small smile at the sentence. It made his heart light to hear that from someone. Strange to think it had been a few months since Launchpad had suggested he become Darkwing Duck. It felt as if it had been this way forever, and at the same time, it was like it had happened just yesterday.

"Thanks, LP. I'm going to go make my dramatic entrance. Feel free to step in after that partner," he said to the pilot. He fixed his hat to ride lower and whispered, "Let's get dangerous."

Honestly, Darkwing had been surprised how much his previous work as a stunt double helped him out in his new career as a superhero. He was fit, and he'd learned parkour from some of the instructors at the school he'd gone to. He put that to use now and made his way up to the rooftop.

There was a service door up there, and he quickly slipped into it. He moved with the shadows, keeping out of sight as much as possible. He frowned when he heard the burglars whispering. Well, most of them were at least.

One voice boomed quite a bit louder than the rest. One that Darkwing swore he'd heard before. "It has to be here, you infernal fools! The original Diamond Duck of St Canard must have ended up here!" Darkwing's eye ridge rose. He'd heard about the theft of their neighboring city's symbol. But everything he'd heard led to it being shipped off the continent.

Hm, if this little store had actually had criminal leanings...

"Boss! I think I've found it!" Darkwing's mind came back to the crime at hand, and he took a breath. Right, showtime!

"Ah-ha! This will be perfect for my scene-"

"I am the terror that flaps in the night!" Darkwing announced as he appeared on top of an empty display case. "I am the furious father that enforces your curfew!" He watched the penguins and walrus begin to back away, and he threw the smoke bomb again.

He reappeared behind them and threw his cape up. "I am Darkwing Duck!" he declared. He looked at the shocked burglars in front of him and felt his own surprise. "And you-you're Tuskerninni, the director."

The walrus puffed himself up. "Indeed, I am!" he said dramatically. "I assume you're a fan," he added with a smug grin.

"No, your films are awful," Darkwing said bluntly. The three penguins winced as their boss spluttered in anger.

"How dare-" he started. Darkwing threw out a hand.

"Surrender the Diamond Duck of St Canard, Tuskerninni!"

"Ha! I believe you are familiar with the term- Finders Keepers, Losers Weepers!" the walrus sneered. As Darkwing concentrated on Tuskerninni, one of the penguins had pulled out a mallet. He swung and slammed it against the masked mallard's foot.

"Yeowch!" Darking screeched and felt tears appear at the corner of his eyes. But instead of falling over, he just glared at the penguin. Who dropped his mallet in shock at the fact that Darkwing hadn't fallen to the ground.

The masked mallard pulled out his gas gun and pointed it at the burglars. "Eat gas, you dastardly director!" he watched the canister fly out, and the burglars scrambled to avoid the smoke that appeared. Darkwing's eyes twitched. It  _ was  _ just smoke and not the knockout gas he'd meant to use.

He followed after the closest penguin. Leaping to take him down before he could leave. He snapped some rope around the other's flippers before front flipping off and taking after Tuskerninni and the rest of his gang.

"I can't believe," Tuskerninni shouted, huffing and puffing as he ran, "that Gizmoduck's sidekick thinks he has a chance against me. Ha!" Darkwing growled under his breath.

His speed increased with frustration, and he knocked into the walrus making him yelp. The Diamond Duck went flying even as Darkwing screeched, "I'm not that helmet headed hack's sidekick!" He shook the director by the collar to emphasize his words.

"I've got it!" called out a voice. Launchpad had arrived in time to see the Diamond go flying. He dived after it and let out a breath of relief as he was able to catch it.

"Nice catch LP," Darkwing rumbled as Tuskerninni attempted to get away from his grasp.

Launchpad grinned. "Thanks, DW. Uh, looks like this is wrapped up, huh?"

"Not quite," the walrus said with narrowed eyes. Darkwing frowned and shook the director again. But as he began to take out the handcuffs he carried, there was a sudden screech.

Launchpad and Darkwing glanced up and watched in horror as one of the beams holding up the building began to fall. The masked mallard instantly let go of the villain and lept back. His eyes followed the pole down to where one of the penguins had sawed through it.

Tuskerninni used the time to make his way out the door. He parted with a smug, "I hope the rest of your day is a blast, sidekick!"

Darkwing stomped his foot in frustration. " I. Am. Not. A. Sidekick!" His fury fell away when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Aw, cheer up DW," Launchpad said, giving him a sympathetic smile. "At least he didn't get away with the loot." Darkwing's eyes rested on the Diamond Duck in Launchpad's hands, and he huffed.

"Yeah," he agreed gloomily. "But it's just so frustrating that everyone is associating me with that- that-" He grumbled under his breath. "Maybe I need to go to a different city. Start fresh."

Launchpad gasped. "But Duckberg needs you, Darkwing!" The masked mallard felt a blush creep up onto his cheeks. He gave a small cough and looked away from his partner.

"Well, I mean yes, of course!" he said. "It'd just be nice to get a little bit of recognition, that's all." Darkwing jumped a bit when a hand landed on his shoulder.

"I recognize you, DW," Launchpad said softly. Darkwing swallowed and nodded.

"I know, thanks LP," he squeaked out. "I can always count on you," he added, trying to get his voice back to normal. He watched this statement, light-up Launchpad's face, and internally sighed. He looked back out to the city. "Why don't you call the police?" he suggested and walked over to the still tied up penguin.

"Sure thing DW!"

They'd left by the time the police got there. But the penguin was hanging from the door. There was a note mentioning Tuskerninni on the Diamond Duck of St. Canard.

Nothing else really happened on patrol. Darkwing had been determined to try and find the director, but no clue really turned up. He was grumbling by the time the sun had started to come up. He'd sent Launchpad home a few hours earlier. He never felt comfortable keeping the pilot out too late, considering he still had an actual job.

Darkwing opened the window to one of the apartments in a crummy building. He slipped his mask off and rubbed his eyes. Drake Mallard turned the lights on and made his way to the kitchen.

He opened the fridge and cursed. There was... ketchup, and that was all. He'd forgotten that he'd put off grocery shopping for a few weeks. He didn't exactly have the money. He was basically living off of what the Darkwing Duck movie had compensated him on. Which wasn't a lot. Well, that and Launchpad had been nice enough to let him eat at his place a few days a week.

It had certainly made things last longer. Drake's stomach rumbled as he shut the door. He'd need to go shopping or else he'd never sleep. He moved into the bedroom and distractedly folded up his costume. It went into the chest in the closet. There were multiple Darkwing costumes, but the others were cheap. Only one of them would work for actual superheroing.

His hope was that if anybody found it, they'd assume it was just cosplay. Considering the various Darkwing merchandise around his room, it wouldn't be that bad of a guess.

He slipped a shirt over his head and combed his head and cheek feathers, so they didn't make it seem like he'd been up all night.

He slipped out of his apartment from the front door this time. The sun was up enough that the supermarket down the street would be open. Drake waved absentmindedly to some neighbors. There were mostly single overworked people in the building. So, most of them were heading out to jobs.

Leaving caused Drake to completely miss the beeping that started in his closet. His Darkwing cape had a small blinking visitor attached to the edge of it. And Tuskerninni had just activated it.

\-----

Drake stared blankly at the grocery store shelf. He really wanted to get something other than ramen or pasta. But the price of the meat was just too high, and the stuntman couldn't bring himself to put it in his cart. He sighed and moved over to another shelf. He guessed beans would be his protein again this week.

As he was putting the beans in his cart, he suddenly heard a crash from behind him. Drake instantly reacted by jumping out of the way as a pyramid of cans fell where he'd been standing.

"Sorry!" a unique voice quacked at him. Drake looked up, and he saw a duck wearing a sailor uniform peak out from behind the destroyed pyramid. The man was obviously embarrassed and frustrated. "This cart doesn't have very good steering," the duck said. But then he blinked. "Ah, your Drake, right?"

"Hello, Mr. Duck," the ex-actor said. "Let me help you with that!" he said quickly and knelt down with Donald to start picking up the mess. Honestly, it was the least he could do considering how the duck had helped him out the last time he'd been at the McDuck mansion.

"Just Donald," the sailor corrected. The two of them quickly stacked the cans back up. Though the pyramid wobbled a bit at the end, and both of them tensed for another crash. Luckily nothing seemed to happen.

Drake let out a sigh of relief at the same time as Donald. "I didn't expect to see you here," he commented. The sailor shrugged.

"This store is cheaper than the one next to Scrooge's place," he replied. The masked mallard felt an eye ridge go up at that comment.

"I wouldn't have thought you'd need to shop cheaply... ?" he said awkwardly. Donald gave a quack of laughter.

"You don't know my uncle. Besides,  _ he _ might not need to, but  _ I  _ do," the sailor said firmly. His eyes turned to Drake's cart, and there was suddenly a frown on his beak. "That doesn't seem very healthy."

"Yeah, well, I shop here for the same reason," Drake said a bit defensively. Donald held up his hands.

"I'm not blaming you," he reassured the other. "But, you still need something besides pasta and beans." Drake's shoulders dropped.

"Well, I'd get vegetables if I could, but-" And suddenly his the sailor was grabbing his cart as well as his own. "Hey, wait a minute!" Drake complained as Donald dragged the half-filled cart behind him.

Drake actually felt his heart speed up as he tried to keep up. "How are you keeping control of two carts like that?" he asked in disbelief. Donald glanced at him. His beak turned up into a fond smile.

"I raised triplets," he stated.

"That sounds like a nightmare," the actor said. The other duck snickered. Donald shook his head as he pulled the carts to a stop near the fruits and veggies. He began to search around in the bins, and Drake winced at how many got dropped into his cart.

"It wasn't exactly," Donald told him as he checked a grapefruit before putting it back. "I mean most of the time, it wasn't. It's not fun, but..." He shrugged. "... it's nice and fulfilling...  _ and  _ nightmare-inducing."

"Not  _ really _ selling it," Drake commented. He grabbed Donald's wrist before he could put even more in the superhero's cart. "Look, thanks, but I can't afford this." The sailor just gave Drake this 'look'. It was a sibling look. An 'I'm-helping-you-so-stop-being-a-dipshit' look.

It was only something Drake had seen directed at him while on stage or set. He blinked in wonder, and his hand dropped. Donald moved on to some fruit.

"It's not something I'd sell," Oh, he was continuing the conversation. "But I wouldn't give it up for the world."

"Only something I'd understand if I was a parent?" Drake asked a little sarcastically. But the sailor shook his head.

"It's different for everyone," he said. "Some people shouldn't be parents." The ex-stuntman winced. "Ah, sorry," Donald apologized. He obviously hadn't meant to bring up a sore spot. Drake cleared his throat.

"No big deal," he lied. This was uncomfortable. Beyond awkward. "So, what are your triplet's names?" he asked.

"You've met them. It's Huey, Dewey, and Louie."

"Oh! So you were the one to raise them while Della was uh," he stumbled as Donald shot him an amused look. "Uh, on the moon." The sailor snorted. "How'd that happen anyway?"

"It's Della," Donald said with a dark look and an annoyed tone. "She just up and decided to fly through a space storm. I didn't even know that was a thing until it happened. Crazy adventuring maniacs." He'd begun muttering to himself. Drake wasn't sure if he should interrupt. He'd obviously stumbled onto a sensitive topic. "Can't live without them, though," the sailor added with a fond sigh of exasperation.

"You don't like danger, then?" Drake asked. Donald hummed in thought.

"I don't like seeing my family in danger," he said.

"Yeah," agreed Drake thinking back. "I didn't like it when Launchpad almost got blown up."

"How did that happen?" Donald asked curiously.

"Oh! It was the first time we met," Drake answered.

"Oh? When did the two of you meet? He didn't mention you until I got back." The masked mallard hesitated. He hadn't really talked about it with anyone. Especially since he was trying to let the fact that he was the actor for Darkwing Duck die down.

"It was on the set for the Darkwing Duck movie that canceled," he said cautiously. He didn't need to mention he would have been the star.

"Darkwing Duck, huh?" Donald muttered thoughtfully. "I've never seen it."

"WHAT?!" Drake screeched. "You never saw it! But it was huge when we were younger!"

Donald gave a squawk, startled by the sudden outburst. "We just didn't watch a lot of TV," he said defensively. "I was more into comics."

"There were Darkwing comics!"

"There were?" The sailor actually looked surprised by this. "Huh, I wonder if I could find them now."

"I have some," Drake said enthusiastically. "Well, I say some, I mean  _ all _ ... vintage. I have all the vintage comics." He wondered if he'd totally screwed up with this duck, but Donald's eyes actually seemed to soften, and his beak turned up in a smile.

"You're a really huge fan, huh?" he asked. Drake scratched the back of his head and gave a nervous chuckle. "What about real-life superheroes?" Donald prodded.

Drake scowled. "If you mean Gizmoduck-" he started.

"I don't," the sailor said quickly. "There was a real-life Darkwing Duck at the celebration for defeating the moon invaders. I haven't heard much about him, but I bet he's still around." Drake's heart thumped. Someone had noticed him! Well, Launchpad always noticed him, but this was not-Launchpad. Donald didn't seem to notice his widening eyes because he'd continued talking. "And before him was..."

The sailor trailed off and was looking blankly into space. The masked mallard thought back. Had there been another superhero before Gizmoduck? Oh! It had been more than a decade, but- "You mean the Duck Avenger?" Drake asked his voice, growing excited again.

Donald opened his mouth to answer. Unfortunately, both carts decided this was when they'd lose their wheels. Drake jumped forward and caught his as Donald steadied the other. Both of them paused for a second and then sighed in relief at seeing that nothing had fallen out.

Drake did not want to pay for bruised fruit. "This is actually going better than normal," Donald chirped cheerfully. "I won't have to buy anything I didn't pick out this time."

It was easy enough to run and get new carts. They transferred their items and hid the broken carts behind cans. Drake felt a little guilty about that, but with his luck (and Donald's), he'd likely end up having to pay for them.

As they stood in line, Donald pulled out a thick notebook and began handing coupons to Drake. The masked mallard looked down at them in surprise. "For the fruit and vegetables," Donald informed him. "I cut them out every week. You just need to watch for the expiration date." He then proceeded to pull out coupons for himself and placed them quickly on top of every item they corresponded with. Drake found himself copying it.

The checker actually smiled when she saw that the two ducks had done that. "That certainly makes my job easier," she mentioned as she rang them through.

With the coupons, it came out at a far better price than Drake would have gotten. And now he had  _ actual food.  _ Despite how the night went, his day seemed to be going well.

Donald waited for him to finish paying, and Drake came up to see him smiling at his phone. "Good news?" he asked. The sailor nodded.

"Just that the boys got home," he answered. "They were out on an 'adventure' with Scrooge." The superhero wasn't sure what to think of that statement. He knew intellectually that the kids were probably far more experienced adventurers than he was a superhero, but it felt strange to him.

Or maybe he was just embarrassed that a bunch of pre-teens could very likely get the jump on him.

_ I'm Darkwing Duck _ , he reminded himself.  _ The terror that flaps in the night! I'll be just as experienced one day.  _ Actually, this made him wonder.

"Did you go adventuring at that age?" he questioned Donald. The other duck nodded again. They both pulled bags out of their carts and began to walk out of the store.

"Yeah, Della and I were a little younger actually," Donald admitted. "Only by a year or two." The sailor was frowning again. "I didn't like the idea of them going out even now. We were really too young." Drake tilted his head in thought.

"I mean, yeah, that does sound a little young," he agreed. "But, it... did it... help?" And that statement couldn't get more awkward, Drake cursed himself.

But Donald seemed to get it. He looked directly at the masked mallard. His eyes had a brief flash of anger, and Drake worried that he'd made a mistake, but then the sailor spoke. "Yeah," he admitted. "Uncle Scrooge made sure I knew how to think on my feet quickly, and how to actually fight. You said you learned on your own?"

"I copied Ji- Darkwing Duck, on TV," Drake replied. "At least at first, then I had a bit of more formal training when I became a stuntman. Admittedly, with stage fighting."

"You were a stuntman?" Donald asked, impressed. Or at least he sounded impressed. Drake liked to think he was. "That seems like a tough job."

"It was engaging. It kept me in top physical form too."

"Was?"

"Oh," Drake cleared his throat. "Uh, I'm between jobs... right now." Because that was something super embarrassing to say as a grown adult. Especially since it'd been months since the Darkwing movie and he hadn't even really tried to find a new one.

"So am I," said Donald with the same level of embarrassment. "My last job got flooded."

"Mine exploded," Drake replied. The two looked at each other with matching understanding.

"That's pretty dramatic," Donald said his beak curling up in amusement. "My job before that ended up being ruined by a stampede of llamas, but nothing quite like an explosion."

"Yeah, that was a pretty bad day," Drake acknowledged. "Llamas?"

Donald made a dissatisfied, quacking noise. "Some kids poked one with a needle. Not my worst day, though. That had to be the time I got fired on my birthday," there was a bitter, sarcastic tone in Donald's voice as he said it.

Drake winced. "Well, ouch."

"Then, my house burned down."

"Uh..."

"And my girlfriend left me." Drake stared at the duck beside him and felt, well, he felt sorry for him, but more than that, he felt a companionship. This was definitely someone who had terrible luck.  _ Just like me. _

"My childhood hero tried to kill me, but then ended up dying saving Launchpad and me that same day," Drake found himself explaining for the first time to someone. He hadn't needed to since Launchpad  _ knew. _ And maybe Drake wanted to talk about this.

"He tried to kill you?" Donald asked horrified. "Why?"

"I- uh- he thought I was replacing him," Drake stumbled over the words.

"That's a terrible reason," Donald said in a deadpan tone.

"Yeah, I- I guess it was," the masked mallard said with a little bit of surprise. He'd known logically that it wasn't a good reason, but he still blamed himself. He felt guilt over Jim Starling's death. If he hadn't agreed to the film... But he was  _ good _ at being Darkwing Duck. It was all he'd ever wanted.

Drake stopped abruptly when Donald turned to him. "It's not your fault," the sailor repeated his thoughts. Drake stared at the smaller duck and tried to form words. Or thoughts. He just-

And at that moment, the street rocked with the sound of an explosion. Debris fell around Donald and himself, and they both looked up.

They'd made their way to Drake's apartment without the ex-stuntman realizing it. And as he looked up, he just knew... His eye twitched.

"...is that your apartment?" asked Donald.

"Yup," Drake said in a deadpan voice. His apartment, several next to, and above it were now on fire. Both he and Donald moved closer to the building instantly. Donald had put down his bags as some people ran out of the front door. The sailor was helping a kid that had stumbled out with a bleed arm.

"Oh! Mr. Mallard!" called a voice. Drake turned to the woman who usually staffed the front office.

"Francine," Drake greeted, suddenly worried. "Was anyone-" She shook her head, and the superhero relaxed. 

"No one was in their apartments today. Except on the upper floors." Drake heard the sound of sirens and a fire truck, and some police cars came up. Donald had finished fixing the kid's arm. He'd pulled bandages and antiseptic from nowhere. But Drake supposed that a parental figure of three would have extra lying around somewhere.

Drake went over to the smaller duck and leaned over. "Need help?" he asked. Donald shook his head. The sailor was taking in the scene with narrowed eyes.

"No one seems to be badly injured?" he asked as the firemen began to spray the building. Drake shook his head.

"Most of the people here work during the day." Donald nodded.

"Your stuff? You said you had collectibles?" Donald said in a worried tone. Drake was touched by the worry.

"My most important pieces are in storage somewhere else," Drake said though he felt his heartbreak thinking about some of the posters he'd had that were vintage. And his outfits. Oh duck, he hoped his Darkwing costume wasn't ruined! His face fell.

Donald patted his shoulder gently. Drake felt himself lean into it instinctually. "What even happened?" he whispered, glancing back up to the apartment building. The fire was out at least. But he could see that his apartment likely got the worst of it.

He was going to need to see what he had left to start over with.

\----

"Are you watching the news?" Dewey asked with some disgust as he walked into the entertainment room. Huey was on the couch, writing in a notebook. The red-clad triplet glanced up.

"We're supposed to write a paper on current events," he reminded the other. Dewey's face scrunched up in disgust.

"It's the weekend, and you're doing homework? That's even worse."

"It's due on Tuesday!"

"Exactly  _ Tuesday _ . Which means that you write it on Monday." Huey shook his head. He turned his attention back to the news station. "Seriously, dude. There's got to be something more fun you can do with your time... What's wrong?" Because Huey had suddenly stiffened and sat up.

"Isn't that Uncle Donald?" he asked, pointing at the screen. Dewey spun around and saw that yes, their Uncle Donald was currently in the background of a news station.

"And Mr. Mallard!" he added. "What the duck happened?"

"Language!" A British voice said behind them. Both triplets jumped in surprise.

"Mrs. Beakley! Uncle Donald is on the news," Huey said quickly. The larger duck was frowning as she looked at the television.

"So I see. And a building seems to have exploded in his proximity," she said with a sigh. Indeed the newscaster was interviewing one of the firefighters that were at the scene.

"-seems to be a gas leak," the firefighter explained. "No one was seriously injured; honestly, we were lucky." The newscaster nodded.

"Do you know if it was because of bad maintenance or-"

"I couldn't comment on that," the firefighter said quickly.

"You heard it here, folks. A few moments ago, a downtown apartment complex exploded due to what officials appear to think is a gas leak."

Dewey shook his head. "It's just Uncle Donald's luck to be there right when it happened."

"Yeah, but why was he there?" Huey asked with a frown. "I thought he was going to the store? And why is he with Mr. Mallard?" Dewey shrugged.

"We should let Mr. McDuck know," Mrs. Beakley mentioned turning around and muttered under her breath, "In case something else goes wrong."

Both triplets winced as she stalked out. They glanced at each other. "Do you think it was just a gas leak?" Dewey asked.

"Probably...?" Huey replied, not believing himself even as he said it. They both turned back to the news as they heard their uncle curse loudly outside the room.

Someone threw open the door with a crash, and suddenly Launchpad was there. Scrooge was behind him, having had followed him into the room. They two looked at the screen that was now showing the explosion that a passerby had caught on camera.

Everyone winced when they saw debris fall around Drake and Donald. The two ducks didn't even seem to notice the large piece that missed them by inches.

"Are they ok?" Launchpad asked, worried.

"They better be," Scrooge growled with quite a bit of menace.

\----

They'd been allowed back up into Drake's apartment after the police and firefighters were gone. Donald had stayed with him through the whole interview with the police. Drake was thankful for that really, but it also confused him. 

And now the sailor was looking around his scorched place with narrowed eyes. His eyes met the masked mallard's and they softened. "I'll go look to see if anything in the kitchen is worth salvaging," he informed Drake, who nodded.

"Yeah, let me check out the bedroom," he answered. They split up, and Drake moved instantly into the bedroom. The walls were a lot blacker here, which made him wince. The closet door was blown open and had fallen on top of what had been his bed.

He looked around the closet and almost wanted to cry. He saw that the chest and all it's contents had been utterly destroyed. He supposed he should be glad that the police didn't have evidence of his nightly activities. But damn it. This meant he needed to rebuild his gas gun and sew a new costume.

He dropped to his knees and looked under the bed. A few pieces of his gun were there. Unrecognizable. But this meant he didn't have to start from complete scratch, at least.

He grabbed that and a few other things that had survived. He stood up and brushed the ash off his knees and feathers. Now that he wasn't in complete mourning for his possessions, he could see a problem with the theory that this was a gas leak.

His closet door had been blown open, and he was reasonably sure there weren't any pipes needed in there. He frowned and suddenly wondered if this had been an accident.

"You alright?" a quacky voice asked. Drake turned around and met Donald's searching gaze. He froze and had to stop himself from stepping in front of the other to block his view.

There wasn't anything incriminating here, he reminded himself. "Yeah," Drake answered, giving a wobbly smile. "Just wondering where I'm going to go." He gave a dry laugh. "I can't exactly get a new apartment after not having worked..." Yeah, there's no way anyone would let him rent without steady paychecks.

Donald tilted his head. "You could," he started hesitantly. "I've got room on my houseboat. I've meant to get a roommate, but well... not many people can handle the bad luck thing."

Drake stared at the other duck. "You... really?" he said, startled. "I mean, I can't pay a lot of rent-"

"If you help clean up and put away your dishes, I don't mind," Donald dismissed. He winced a little. "My last roommate wasn't very good with that. Plus, he was uh, clingy."

Drake felt himself nod before he could even really think about the answer. Donald gave him a relieved grin.

"Good, let's pack up your stuff then." The masked mallard watched as the other went out of the room. What had just happened? Why was this duck helping him so much? People just... didn't do that with Drake.

But, there was something comfortable about Donald. Maybe it was the fact they had at least one thing in common. Either way, Drake felt relief spread through his limbs. At least he wouldn't be out on the streets again.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drake gets to know his new roommate and his family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Launchpad isn't in this chapter very much, but he will be in the next one! This is mostly Drake getting to know the Duck-McDuck family.
> 
> Unbeta'd.

Donald hadn't even paused in his decision to invite Drake to his home. The other duck was in trouble, and he felt something of a connection with him. It was strange to think there was someone else in the world with lousy luck like his own. Or similar at least.

He had to wonder if it was a little different... but he'd leave that up to Scrooge and Huey to figure out. He'd never been interested in analyzing his luck, just surviving it.

Drake had  _ absolutely  _ survived it. Donald had felt his heart constrict, and his temper exploded when he'd first heard the neglect that the ex-stuntman had suffered. But more than that. He was  _ impressed _ by him.

He shook his head and concentrated on the road. They'd picked up the groceries and anything they could find in Drake's apartment and headed to Donald's car.

"Seatbelt," Donald muttered as they climbed in and then blushed when Drake snorted. "Sorry, habit." The other duck clicked the seatbelt shut dramatically. "Where's the storage for the rest of your stuff?" he asked as he backed out of the grocery store parking lot.

"Everything's with Launchpad actually," Drake admitted. "He offered after the movie went sideways."

"That makes it easy," Donald chirped.

"Why did you follow me to my apartment if you had a car, by the way?" Drake asked, glancing at the sailor. Donald smiled chagrined.

"I forgot," he lied. He'd just wanted to make sure Drake got home alright. He'd already embarrassed himself enough with his parenting instincts for the day.

"Uh, huh," Drake hummed in disbelief. But he let it go. If the sailor didn't tell him, he wouldn't make him. Especially after getting a free place to stay for the night. Donald had been incredibly kind, a brief flash of paranoia struck the masked mallard. But he repressed it.

Donald was a part of Launchpad's family. He hadn't done anything to deserve Drake's paranoia. It was better to expect people to be good... just...

He straightened up when he noticed where they were headed. "Wait," he piped up. "I thought you lived on a houseboat? Why are we headed for McDuck Manor?"

Donald glanced at him. "My houseboat's in the manor's pool," he started to explain.

"You mean I'm going to be living at Scrooge McDuck's house?!" Drake squeaked. Donald shook his head bemused, but understanding.

"Well, in his pool," Donald agreed. "It's a little less overwhelming. Trust me." Drake heard a hint of nervousness in Donald's voice, and he glanced over at the other duck.

Donald was scratching the back of his neck. The sailor looked over, and their eyes met. "Eh, it might need repairs actually," he admitted. "It usually does." Drake's mind clicked, and his eyes brightened. The sudden spark of understanding between the two settled on Drake's heart like a warm blanket.

"I'm pretty good with repairs," he said with a grin. Donald shot him one back.

"Yeah, me too." Because, of  _ course _ , Donald's boat demanded repairs. Drake had needed to repair his place quite a few times. For example, when the window washers would accidentally chip windows, or a simple heater upgrade would cause the water to break.

It just reminded him that even if he was going to be in a new place, it was one where people were used to the kind of bad luck Drake brought with him. It didn't stop his hands from wringing nervously as they drove up to the McDuck gates.

They were met by a gaggle of the whole family before Donald could get to the houseboat. He stopped the car as the triplets and Webby ran out in front of it.

"Kids!" he yelled out the window angrily. "Jumpin' jacksnipes! What were you thinking?"

"You were on TV!" Webby called, coming up to the driver's side window. "You almost got hit by debris in that explosion! You and Mr. Mallard."

Drake had undone his seatbelt and was opening the door when he was suddenly swept off his feet.

"DW!" Launchpad shouted as he hugged the smaller duck to his chest. "Are you alright? I saw the explosion on TV-" Drake felt his brain fizz out for a moment at the realization that he could feel every single one of Launchpad's pectoral muscles. With his face.

"-what in blazes have ye gotten into now lads," interrupted a loud Scottish voice. "Put him down Launchpad. He can nae breath." Drake was dropped, and he stumbled, catching his breath in the process. He could feel a blush staining his feathers.

He looked around and saw that Scrooge McDuck was running his hands over Donald's arms. His eyes scrutinized the sailor before giving him a nod. Drake took a step back into Launchpad when the trillionaire turned on him with the same intense stare. And then he was having hands run up and down his clothes in the same manner of searching for injuries.

"Neither of ye appears to be hurt," Scrooge said, a noticeable sigh of relief escaping his beak. Drake was left with his beak hanging open and a stupidly dumbfounded look on his face.

"You alright?" Launchpad asked, and he nodded slowly.

"Yeah, neither of us got hit... did Scrooge McDuck just mother me?" he asked.

"Well, of course," Launchpad said. "He was worried about you." Drake's heart clenched, and he looked over at Donald. The sailor was staring at him with a tiny smile.

"Drake's apartment exploded," he explained to the family. "So, he'll be staying with me on the houseboat."

The ducklings cheered, and Scrooge gave a nod of approval.

"Good," he grunted. "One less thing to worry about."

"That means we're neighbors!" Launchpad added cheerfully. "We can have way more Darkwing marathons now!"

"We'll have to invite Donald," Drake added absentmindedly. "He's never seen it."

"What?!" yelled both Launchpad and Dewey. The blue triplet (at least Drake thought the blue one was Dewey) turned on his uncle and demanded, "How did you get out of it for so long?"

Donald gave a helpless shrug. "I wasn't... trying to?" he said, confused.

Dewey gave a huge groan. "Well, you won't be able to get out of it now," he warned.

"It won't be tonight anyway," Drake commented a little offended that the duckling was so put out by his favorite show. "We'll need to move what's left of my stuff."

"Oh, right!" Launchpad said. "Good thing you left most of your stuff at my place, eh DW?"

"Yeah," Drake agreed slowly. "We might want to keep most of my collectibles with you still." He glanced over at Donald, who shrugged and nodded.

Yeah, better to keep breakables as far away as possible until they were used to everything.

\-----

It didn't take long to move everything into the houseboat. Drake actually felt himself relax when he saw that it really was just a small, typical, houseboat. He wasn't sure he'd be able to hand some fancy yacht. But then, he was beginning to find that wouldn't have matched Donald anyway.

They stopped for lunch at some point and finished the rest of the move that afternoon. Drake hadn't realized that he'd kept so much stuff at Launchpad's home.

"Well, we'll have double groceries for a while," the sailor said, amused at how full the fridge suddenly was of veggies.

Drake winced. "And after you used your coupons on them too," he muttered.

"Eh, they would have gone to waste anyway," Donald reassured the other quickly. He glanced at the clock. "The entire days gone. I usually have dinner at the house."

"Oh, I'll see you after then," Drake said. The sailor stared at him, thoughtfully.

"I meant that no one would mind if you came. Mrs. Beakley's probably put out a place already," Donald's voice was reassuring.

"Oh," Drake repeated, embarrassed. "Well, yes. Thanks!"

He'd expected dinner to be awkward as well. He should have known better. The Duck-McDuck's were anything, but the typical rich ducks Drake usually associated with money. They were the very epitome of eccentric. Even with something as simple as dinner.

It wasn't just the main family sitting down to eat. But Launchpad, Mrs. Beakley, and the ghost butler joined as well. Everyone basically served themselves, and a food fight between the ducklings broke out in the middle of it. Spurred on by Della and stopped by Donald.

Which caused a food fight between the twins instead. Through this entire thing, Drake watched with growing bemusement. By the end, he found himself joining in on Donald's side of the table.

This was when the long, 'should be nearly impossible to move' dining table decided to flip, and their entire side was splattered with food.

"Ha!" Della crowed before Donald launched himself over the downed table and stuffed mashed potatoes in Della's face. Drake found himself shaking with laughter as he watched the twins go down next to Scrooge McDuck. 

He was the only one not covered in food and still sitting in his chair. The trillionaire had a saucer and teacup on his knee and was sipping it nonchalantly. His beak was turned up in amusement as he watched his niece and nephew.

"Alright, that's enough," Scrooge piped up. He stood and grabbed the back of Donald's shirt, hauling him off of his sister. "We'll all need to-" He was cut off by Donald, dumping the gravy on to his head.

Scrooge's eyes narrowed as everyone in the room froze. "Ack, ye've done it now lad," Scrooge warned, Drake's eyes snapped to Donald worry suddenly in the pit of his stomach. But the sailor's eyes were shining, and his beak was turned up with mischief.

"You'll have to catch me first," Donald told his uncle before smacking him in the face with a newly brought out pie and dropping to the ground. There were shrieks of laughter as the entire family moved, and the food fight became an elaborate game of tag.

"Is it... always like this?" Drake asked Launchpad and Mrs. Beakley.

"Recently it has been," Beakley said softly.

"It's great, right?" Launchpad added happily.

"Yeah," Drake agreed, his own voice turning wistful. Then he was grabbed, and Donald was suddenly hiding behind him.

And he had a ticked off Scrooge McDuck up in his face. He held his hands up in a placating gesture.

"Get out from behind him, ye wee gherkin," Scrooge demanded of his nephew. Donald stuck out his tongue from behind Drake's back, and the masked mallard wondered if this was how he was going to die.

"How about you make me, old man?" Donald taunted.

Scrooge's eyes swiveled onto Drake. "Step aside, lad," he demanded.

"Drake's on my side," Donald disagreed. Drake looked around at the duck behind him with an incredulous expression. The sailor winked at him and smiled encouragingly.

"Uh, right," Drake agreed, turning back to the trillionaire.

"Betrayed by me own family," Scrooge said in an overdramatic tone. 

He threw his hands up in the air. "Fine, fine. Ye got it away with it, lad. But no dessert!" As he turned away, Drake saw the mirth on Scrooge's beak.

There were groans of dismay from the ducklings. "Get to bed, the lot of ye!" Scrooge shouted. "Go on!" As the ducklings were herded away, Donald finally stepped out from behind Drake. He had a victorious smirk.

"I thought you didn't like danger?" Drake said. His heart was still racing.

"Uncle Scrooge isn't dangerous. Just onery," Donald replied. "C'mon. Let's get out before he comes back." They said goodnight to Della, Launchpad, and Mrs. Beakley as they went out the back door towards the houseboat.

Drake found himself drifting off to sleep a bit easier that night than usual. He wasn't sure if it was the rocking of the boat or the fact that he hadn't slept for a good twenty-four hours.

He awoke to the smell of pancakes and soft singing floating down to his bedroom. He stumbled out of bed groggily. It had been a while since he'd slept at  _ night _ . Usually, he was on patrol, either with Launchpad or on his own.

He grabbed a shirt and towel and moved down the hall to the bathroom. He felt himself humming in time with the singing from the kitchen. The smell of pancakes made him clean faster than he usually would have. They smelled so good.

The singing had become soft humming by the time Drake was stepping into the boat's kitchen. Donald looked over at him from the stove where he was flipping pancakes. He turned down the Latin music he'd been listening to.

"There's some on the table," he told the ex-stuntman. And then pointed to the pot by him. "There's some syrup in here."

"Thanks! But shouldn't I be the one making you breakfast?" Drake exclaimed.

"Don't be ridiculous. I like making breakfast," Donald snorted. Drake grabbed himself a plate and stacked it full of pancakes. He used a ladle to get the syrup out and took a bite.

"Holy, duck," he gushed. "This is amazing! Did you make this syrup?" Donald perked up at the praise and nodded his head.

"Brown-sugar syrup. It's cheaper than the kind you get at the store. Better, too, since you can add flavors other than maple in it." Drake found himself taking seconds and then thirds. Both he and Donald gobbled the pancakes down and leaned back, utterly full at the end of the meal.

"I don't ever want to eat again," Drake groaned. "Totally worth it, though."

Donald snickered. "The boys are going to be so mad they didn't get any." Drake lifted his head from the table where it had apparently decided to lay on without his permission.

He glanced around the kitchen. "Let me clean up," he suggested, standing and stretching.

"Thanks," Donald replied. "I'll help, though." Drake put a hand on Donald's shoulder and pushed him back down into his chair as he went past.

"Nuh, uh. You baked, so I clean. We can put on that music you were singing to earlier." The masked mallard had the delight of watching Donald's feathers go red as the sailor started playing with the hem of his shirt. He didn't think he'd ever seen the other duck so flustered.

"You heard me?" Donald asked, appalled. 

Drake was surprised to find he was tempted to tease the other some more. Instead, he admitted, "Not very well. I couldn't even hear the words." Donald relaxed.

"I wouldn't mind listening to the playlist again," he admitted. He turned his phone back on the music came through the small speaker on the counter. It was upbeat and passionate. Just the type of music that Drake found it easy to work to.

He was done reasonably quickly. Donald had stood and begun cleaning the rest of the boat as Drake worked. He'd started humming to the music again and swinging his hips in time with the rhythm.

"Do you play anything?" Drake asked as he dried his hands.

"Yeah," Donald said absentmindedly. "The guitar, trumpet, flute, harp, accordion, saxophone, most drums, cello, piccolo uh-" He paused to think. "I learned the cavaquinho at one point. Piano, obviously."

"Obviously," repeated Drake, a bit amazed by the long list.

"Ukulele, tambourine..." Donald trailed off and shrugged. "I used to pick up a lot of different instruments when I was younger."

"I'd like to hear you play sometime," Drake commented.

"If you can find something to play  _ on _ , I will," Donald agreed.

Drake opened his beak, but a wrapping at the boat door was heard.

"Lad!" Scrooge said as he opened the door without waiting to be invited in. Donald rolled his eyes. "We've found-" The Scottish duck paused and sniffed. "Did ye make pancakes?" he asked, his eyes suddenly filled with excitement.

"There's none left," Donald said bluntly. Scrooge's whole being seemed to fall at that statement.

"Ye didn't leave me any?" he complained. "Not even a bite?"

"I didn't know you were going to barge in here," Donald retorted.

"Can't believe ye didn't invite me," Scrooge muttered. He shook his head and sniffed. "Anyway, we've found a lead on one of the artifacts in that journal. Yer coming?" Donald hesitated a moment, and Drake found his eyes on him.

"I'll be fine," he reassured the sailor. "I need to do some chores anyway."

"Ye can come as well," Scrooge offered. Drake blinked and thought about it for a minute. Going on an adventure with Scrooge McDuck would be  _ phenomenal. _ But... this would be an excellent time to sew his costume.

"Maybe next time?" Drake suggested, hopefully. "When I'm more settled in."

"Aye, I'll remember," Scrooge agreed. He tugged on Donald, who stumbled after his uncle.

"Feel free to use any of the food!" Donald called at Drake before the door closed. The masked mallard glanced around the suddenly quiet boat.

"Costume first," he muttered. Once back in his room, he pulled out the sewing machine and material. He'd made his own cosplay Darkwing uniforms before, of course. But he needed a version that was on par with what the studio had given him.

He took a few hours to get halfway done and then got stiff enough to put it away beneath his bed. He stretched, cracking his back. Groaning, he stepped out and started exploring the boat. It was small, and he discovered the triplet's old room. He also found that Donald had only finished what looked like half the chores.

Well... he didn't have anything else to do, and cleaning did help focus his mind. Maybe he'd be able to figure out where Tuskerninni was going to hit next.

The sun was starting to set when Drake finally heard voices again. He looked up from where he'd been watering the plants, to see Donald and Della exit the back of the mansion and head toward him. They were unmistakably arguing and quite loudly. He could only understand Della's part of the argument, though.

"You need a break from them, Donnie! ... No, I don't think getting stuck on an island for months counts... well, you're the one wanting to add a third- yeah- no- oh come!" As they got closer to the houseboat, Drake saw that Della had a box with bottles in it.

She looked up and tried to wave at Drake, Donald squawked and grabbed the edge of the box that dipped. "Heya Drake!" she called. "We're going to have a party tonight. An adult party." She glared at Donald. "Because I haven't had one in a decade."

Donald rolled his eyes, and the two of them climbed onto the boat. Della set the box down and clapped her hands down on Drake's shoulders. "Plus, we have to celebrate your house warming."

"I won't say no to free alcohol," Drake commented as he went to turn off the water. All three of them froze when they saw that Della had been stepping on the hose; her foot blocking a vast amount of water. Donald grabbed his twin and pulled her off the hose before it could explode. Instead, the water shot out, spraying the twins. Drake yelped as the force pushed him over the edge of the boat and into the pool.

"Drake!" Donald screamed as he ran to the edge of the boat. The masked mallard spat out the pool water as he swam up to the surface.

"I'm fine," he shouted back. The sailor's shoulders fell in relief as Della peered over the edge.

"Ooops..." she winced. "Sorry!" Drake sighed and moved to the edge of the pool. He grabbed the ledge and hoisted himself up.

"Just tell me you have something stronger than beer in that box!"

"I totally have something stronger than beer in this box," Della cheered. Drake climbed back up onto the deck and saw that both Donald and Della were also dripping wet.

"Maybe we should get clean-"

"Dibs!" Della screeched as she ran past both of the other ducks and ducked into the bathroom. Donald and Drake stared at the direction she'd gone, and then they both sighed at the same time.

"Sorry," Donald told Drake. "Della insisted we have a party tonight."

"I don't mind," Drake replied. "But, you seem to?" His voice was a bit hesitant since it did seem like Donald had been arguing with his twin.

Donald fidgeted. "I'm just worried about the boys. She said Scrooge would watch them, but..." The sailor shrugged. "I haven't actually drunk anything since they were hatched."

"Ah," Drake murmured. "I agree with Della. You obviously need a break." Donald spluttered in indignation. A few minutes later, Della had come out of the bathroom dressed in a lighter blue sailor uniform.

"That's mine," Donald complained.

"Eh, I'll give it back, I didn't want to have to run to the house again." She pushed Drake into the bathroom. "Come on, come on. Let's get this party started." When both male ducks were finally washed and in dried clothes, Della plunked the box of alcohol onto the kitchen counter.

She pulled out quite a few bottles of liquor, some beer, and some wine. Drake grabbed the whiskey.

"Is this thirty-year-old whiskey?" he asked in awe.

"From Uncle Scrooge's cellar," Della laughed. "I don't think he ever even goes down there." She had grabbed a bottle of beer and opened it with her mechanical leg. Donald was staring at the array of alcohol with wide eyes. Finally, he hesitatingly took one of the white wine bottles and poured himself a glass.

Drake had poured out the whiskey with the same wide-eyed fascination. Della lifted her bottle. "To making friends, and hopefully not blowing this place up within a year," she toasted. Donald snorted, and Drake laughed a little nervously, but the three of them clinked glasses together. "You still have such a frilly taste in drinks, Donnie. Is that  _ dessert  _ wine?"

"They taste better than that shot of bitter you have," Donald shot back as he sipped the wine. "What's wrong with liking things sweet?" Drake sipped the whiskey and groaned.

"This is amazing. Is this what it means to be rich? I'd drink this every day."

"And that lad is why ye are not rich," said a voice from behind the three of them. The trillionaire reached between them and grabbed the whiskey bottle to pour out his own glass. Donald stood straighter, worry coming into his eyes quickly.

"I thought you were watching the kids-" he started to say.

"Beakley kicked me out," Scrooge soothed Donald. "Said I needed more time spent with the older troublemakers." Donald raised an eye ridge, and the Scot admitted, "And I might've been a wee bit too competitive with that dart game Webby always wants to play."

"Sweet," Della grinned. She held up a now half-empty beer bottle. "To the older troublemakers." Four glasses clinked together. Drake wondered if he was in the twilight zone, standing here drinking thirty-year-old whiskey with Scrooge McDuck on his nephew's houseboat was a bit trippy.

"Duck after me own heart," Scrooge commented, indicating Drake's glass.

"I usually have something cheaper," Drake admitted.

"Aye, me too. This one was a gift," Scrooge replied. "I usually just get the cheapest whiskey I can find."

"But you're Scrooge McDuck," Drake emphasized. Donald snorted.

"Uncle Scrooge is a penny pincher," the sailor sniggered.

"I'm the richest duck in the world because I'm a penny pincher ye spendthrift," Scrooge scowled.

"I thought it was because you were Smarter than the Smarties," Donald declared.

"That too," Scrooge agreed, downing the rest of his glass. "C'mon, let's have another. Ye youngsters as slow." Drake put his own glass down, and Scrooge filled it. Donald shook his head and turned to the tequila instead. Della had snapped open another beer bottle.

Donald moved around her and opened the fridge to bring out some juices and fruit. He poured some lime juice into his glass with the tequila and carefully chopped and put a slice of lime on the side of the glass.

"Frilly drinks," Della teased.

"They taste good," Donald maintained as he took a swig of the quickly made margarita. "And they're stronger than yours, Del-la."

"At least I can hold my alcohol," Della insisted. "Better than you." Donald glared.

"Oh, yeah," he demanded.

"Yeah." Drake and Scrooge side-eyed each other.

"Now, now kids," Scrooge cooed. "Let's not get into an argument. This is a housewarming party. Which means Drake should be the one getting drunk." Drake blinked as more whiskey was poured into his glass.

"Maybe we should play a drinking game," Della suggested.

"Absolutely not," Donald denied. "The last time we played one, you ended up in jail, and Uncle Scrooge ended up sleeping on top of Mickey's car."

"While, ye were carted off by the Beagle boys," Scrooge reminisced. "Those were good times."

" _ You _ didn't have to make the Beagle's breakfast," Donald retorted.

"Your breakfast is the best," Drake commented. Della perked up, and she whirled on Donald.

"You made pancakes this morning?" she shouted indignantly. "And you didn't give any to me?!"

"That's what I said," Scrooge muttered into his glass. Donald rolled his eyes, but Drake could see the pleased tilt of his beak. It was clear that the sailor was happy that so many people enjoyed his cooking.

"I'll make you guys some tomorrow if you're so insistent." Della cheered and held up her bottle.

"Cheers to that!" she said, and three glasses clinked together. Donald just shook his head.

"They were perfect pancakes," Drake agreed. "And I'd eat them every day." He paused. "I'd need to up my exercise routine, though." Or actually go on patrol.

"What'd you do for a job anyway, Drakey?" Della asked. The masked mallard winced.

"Ugh, please don't use that name. My brother used to call me that." Scrooge and Donald stiffened next to him. Ah, he'd forgotten the two of them were aware of his abuse at the hands of his younger brother. "And I was an actor and a stuntman."

"Oh? Are you famous?" Della asked without a hint of teasing.

"Uh, no," Drake said, scratching the back of his neck. "The last project I was in, kind of, closed down."

"It exploded," Scrooge retorted. "Very, very expensively exploded." Della snorted.

"Sounds like a fun time," she chirped. "If it helps, my last big project got me stuck on the moon for a decade."

"I'd heard," Drake admitted. "How did that even work?"

"It all started with the worst flavored chewing gum-"

\-----

"-and that's why I'll never eat black licorice again."

"I mean, at least you got a girlfriend out of it," Drake commented as he took the Sex on the Beach that Donald offered him. Della laughed nervously.

"What? Girlfriend?" Donald and Drake glanced at each other and rolled their eyes. Della flushed.

"Ye aren't together yet?" Scrooge asked with a frown. "I thought ye were considering she was willing to blow herself up for ye and yer kids." The flush turned darker, and Drake found himself snickering.

"At least I'm not as bad as you and Launchpad!" Della said, pointing at the masked mallard. Drake choked on his drink, and the group spent the next few minutes trying to rinse the burn out of his esophagus.

\-----

"-And then that malicious mind of mischief dropped the bucket on her head," Drake finished. The three other ducks laughed uproariously. They'd moved to some of the couches on the houseboat, and Drake found himself in between the twins as Scrooge leaned back in a deck chair.

He felt warm, comfortable, and safe. 

\-----

"-such a despicable know it all," Scrooge lamented. "Can't believe I let them stay in  _ me _ tower."

Donald quacked out something that did not translate in Drake's more than likely drunk brain. "What?" he asked at the same time as Della. Apparently, she was too drunk to understand her brother, either. Or Donald was slurring his words, making it even harder to follow him.

"He said, 'I told you, stubborn old man. That bastard was making me run up and down flights of stairs carrying his metal drawers when there were obvious professional movers! He's such a trashy muckraking yellow journalist.'" Scrooge informed them.

"Strong words," Drake whistled. "He's that journalist that hates superheroes, right? What's his name again?"

"Who cares?" Della asked seriously. Donald quacked in agreement.

"I'll drink to that," translated Scrooge.

\-----

"Ye were so adorable," Scrooge cooed as he hugged Donald. The sailor just lay there with his hands over his face.

Drake couldn't understand Donald's reply except for the 'Unkie' at the end. Della was laughing so hard she'd fallen on the floor and couldn't get up. Drake found his heart melting at the scene. He never thought he'd see the world's richest duck lamenting over the fact that his nephew was 'just the cutest wee thing.' It was charming.

It was only a little while after that they decided to stop. Mostly because Drake and Della had a challenging time pulling a clingy Scrooge off of Donald. Then they'd had to prevent Donald from jumping overboard the boat to go check on his own nephews and Webby.

"They're asleep, Donnie. Ugh, seriously!" Della said as she and Drake each took an arm and dragged the sailor to his hammock. "Told you I could hold my liquor better." The two of them dumped the duck there. Drake glanced around and picked up a blanket to spread over Donald's frame.

When he turned around and left, he saw that Della was staring at him with a smile on her face. "You should totally be our third twin," she declared. "Your name even starts with a 'D.' It's perfect!"

Drake froze, his heart thumping.

"I- you mean triplet?"

"Yes!" Della replied, swinging an arm over his shoulder. "Then we can be just like my boys!" Drake wondered if she'd be asking him this if she were sobber. He must have taken too long to answer because her pouting face was suddenly in front of his. "Do you not want to be?" she asked hurt.

"It's not that!" Drake answered quickly. "It's just we're drunk-"

"I'll want you as a second brother tomorrow, too," Della insisted. "Just you watch." She stomped off down the corridor, leaving Drake standing in front of Donald's room feeling bewildered and strangely happy.

\----

Drake awoke to the smell of coffee. He groaned and made his way to the kitchen. Sitting at the table, Scrooge and Della were holding mugs of steaming liquid salvation. Donald was at the kitchen counter, mixing a bowl of batter.

The three of them glanced over when Drake walked in, and then Della shouted, "There's our third twin!"

"Triplet," both Donald and he corrected her. Then Drake blinked. Della was giving him a smug grin, and Donald was looking at him with kind eyes.

"I-" Drake stuttered his hand, clenching his shirt by his chest. "You really mean that..."

"Course we do, lad," Scrooge answered, looking up from his coffee. "It was evident ye were meant to be a McDuck." Drake felt tears sprout from his eyes.

"Aw, Dray's crying," Della cooed.

"'m not," Drake sniffed. "It's just the hangover."

"Coffee is in the pot," Donald told him, pointing. "Don't be an idiot like Dumbella and Uncle Scrooge and drink some water with it too. Pancakes will be ready in a bit." Both Della and Scrooge denied being idiots.

Drake sat down with a glass of water and coffee. The smell of pancakes began to waft around the room as Donald poured the batter onto the pan. He rubbed his eyes to get rid of the tears and felt his beak automatically turn up into a smile as the three other ducks began to argue.

He suddenly knew what people meant by 'home.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The brown-sugar syrup was what my mom would make us when I was younger. It's pretty good if you make it right even without the flavoring.
> 
> Donald is usually bad at cooking, but I head-cannon him being good at making breakfast, Mexican, and Brazilian food. This is partially from the comic where Scrooge stops by Donald's house for pancakes.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading the first chapter of this!


End file.
